


Better Than New

by pallorsomnium



Series: For My Family (We Are The Resistance) [3]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Angst, Charles-centric, First Meetings, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Pre-Slash, Prosthesis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-20 23:32:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pallorsomnium/pseuds/pallorsomnium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>For Charles, like for so many others, the world ended on 10 August 2013.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Charles' journey to becoming a Jaeger pilot, starting from the attack on San Francisco.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Than New

**Author's Note:**

> First off, I'm sorry. I had to do it for the purpose of this AU. My heart hurt so much while writing it. (You'll see what I'm referring to shortly.) *cries* 
> 
> And after that ominous beginning, yay for another Pacific Rim AU fic! This started out as a few hundred words...and then turned into a full-blown fic. Orz.
> 
> At the moment, un-beta'd. Enjoy! :)

For Charles, like for so many others, the world ended on 10 August 2013.

He woke up seven days later in a hospital bed with his head bandaged, ribs cracked, arm broken, and no feeling in his legs. His memories of the 11th was spotty at best, disjoint and scrambled and tainted by horror and disbelief.

Of course, he remembered the monster, the monster with Godzilla-esque stature that rose out of the ocean. He remembered the city descending into chaos and grabbing hold of his sister’s hand as they ran as fast as they could from the monster and its path of destruction. The last thing he remembered was pushing Raven out of the way of falling debris, getting crushed underneath in her stead.

So when a nurse came bustling in, the first thing he asked wasn’t where he was exactly, or what was the extent of his injuries; he asked where Raven was.

 

* * *

 

Charles nearly ran over a young man with his wheelchair during his morning “commute” across campus. He quickly offered the man an apology and a hand, helping him get back on his feet after having stumbled out of the way of Charles’ wheels.

The young man looked a bit lost, fidgeting with a map in one hand, so Charles asked, “Do you need help finding your way somewhere? It’s the least I can do.”

“Oh, if you don’t mind, I’m looking for the Oxbridge PPDC lab?”

“Oh! Well then, that won’t be difficult at all. Come with me. Are you a new summer student?”

“No, actually, I’m a bioengineer,” the young man said, ducking his head. “I was asked to come for an interview.”

“That’s marvelous! I look forward to possibly working with you, then. Charles Xavier, pleasure to meet you.” Charles offered a hand for him to shake.

“Hank McCoy. Nice to meet you too.”

 

* * *

 

The nurse looked wrung out and red-eyed, her hair frizzy and her uniform rumpled. She hesitated before answering him, and he knew he didn’t want to hear what she had to say.

“There weren’t many survivors. I’m so sorry.”

There was a buzzing in his ears, then the sound of a heart beating rapidly -- his own, he realised belatedly -- drowning out all other noises. He felt as if he couldn’t breathe, the full body ache he had woken up to nothing compared to now; it felt like his rib cage had been ripped open and his heart torn out, crushed, and stabbed by glass shards.

His sister was dead. His baby sister, whom he’d practically raised by himself, ever since taking her away from his abusive stepfather and drunk mother.

He’d done everything he could to keep Raven safe. _And he’d failed._

It took him awhile to realise that he was screaming and that more people had rushed into his room, though he couldn’t see clearly through his tears-blurred eyes. They must have given him a sedative though, because then he blinked and fell into darkness.

 

* * *

 

The Marshall was hesitant to let Charles pilot at first, and Charles wasn’t entirely surprised, not when he’d been forced to tell the man about his past.

“You were in San Francisco, and you have a chip on the shoulder, Dr Xavier. You want vengeance for your sister,” the Marshall said. “You can’t bring that kind of baggage into the drift space.”

“I won’t,” Charles reassured him, and he wasn’t lying. He’d spent ten years now in a wheelchair; he knew how to discipline his mind and body, and he said as much to the Marshall.

The Marshall glanced down at Charles’ chair before looking into Charles’ eyes.

“I suppose you do,” he remarked, getting to his feet. “Lehnsherr is stationed on the US base in Alaska. You and Dr McCoy, pack everything you’ll need and be ready to leave tomorrow. We’ll send a car to pick you up. Your flight leaves at 2100 hours.”

 

* * *

 

The monster from San Francisco had taken six days to be brought down, they told him. It was being called a Kaiju, like the ones in Japanese movies, and the world held its breath, wondering what could possibly happen next.

Meanwhile, Charles remained in the hospital. It took weeks before Charles could come to terms with Raven’s death and the loss of his legs, and weeks more for him to heal enough to begin rehabilitation.

Halfway through Charles’ rehab, a second Kaiju attacked, this time in the Philippines. Then, towards the end of his rehab, another attacked Japan. That was when the world realised the Kaiju weren’t going to go away; that the monsters --  _aliens_ , really -- were going to keep on attacking. The world banded together, and the Pan Pacific Defense Corps was created.

 

* * *

 

Charles found a package sitting on the doorsteps of his childhood home the day after he was released from the hospital. When he opened the box, he wasn’t entirely surprised to see a sleek new Stark mobile; he hadn’t seen Tony Stark in years, but it wasn’t the first time his more-absent-than-not friend had left him mysterious packages and new bits of technology.

The phone pinged, drawing attention to the one message left in its voicemail box, and after finding a way to maneuver himself -- and notably, his chair -- into the house, Charles set the phone down and let the message play through the speakers.

_“Hey Charlie. Horribly late, I know, but I just heard about Raven, and well, you. I -- sorry, you know I can’t deal with these kinds of things. But...hey, if you ever need me for anything at all, just let me know. And whenever you want the funeral, just say it and I’ll be there._

_“I hope you’re holding it together. I wanted to visit, but they said you’re leaving the hospital soon, and I’ve been pulled into PPDC to work on defense research. Something you should know: they’re setting up an Oxbridge research team. After what happened, I thought you’d might like to join if you’re heading back to Oxford. Just give me a call; I’ll set you up, no hassle.”_

Charles was dialing Tony’s number the moment the message ended.

 

* * *

 

“Are you sure about this?” Hank asks for perhaps the hundredth time that morning.

In less than half an hour, Charles would go into surgery. Charles was already laid out on a hospital bed, dressed in a flimsy hospital gown and a plastic bracelet around his wrist.

“I mean, there’s no going back after this, Charles,” Hank continued his fretting.

“Hank, it will be fine,” Charles insisted once again, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been working on this for two years now, and everyone in the lab and the surgeons have checked over the specs. I trust you and your knowledge. Besides, it isn’t like I can use my legs as they are now anyway, and once the prosthetics are on, you can do all the adjustments you like to make sure they work perfectly.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” Hank replied, glancing nervously at Charles’ legs and then at the doors.

“I am, and I know this will work splendidly. And then, there will be no way for me to thank you enough.”

 

* * *

 

“I’m going to give you legs.”

Charles blinked, the words not quite making sense to him. Hank stood before him with wind-blown hair and cold-flushed cheeks, a stack of paper under the other.

“Sorry? Say that again please?” Charles asked.

“I’m going to give --  _make_ \--you legs.” Hank spread his papers across the tabletop, revealing notes and schematics, all in Hank’s narrow, slanting penmanship. “You see, if I combine all the existing Jaeger research with prosthesis research, I should be able to create bionic prosthetics for your legs. And not only will you be able to walk, but since your legs will be robotic in nature and considering your great upper body strength, you’ll be stronger and fitter than the average human male.”

It took Charles a few tries before he could speak. “I --  _Hank_ , are you sure?”

“As sure as I can be. Of course, I need to have everything checked over by experts, and it’s still going to highly experimental -- if you want to take the chance.”

“But why would you do this for me?”

Hank ducked his head as if embarrassed, and Charles had to lean in to hear his answer. “I know how you feel about your legs; I’ve seen the way you watch the Jaegers. I thought, well, you’ve been a great friend and mentor to me. This is the least I can do for you.”

 

* * *

 

A woman in a PPDC uniform came into the lab looking for Charles. She stopped short in the doorway of the room Charles and Hank had commandeered. Charles supposed she was shocked to see him walking; Charles’ gunmetal prosthetics were also probably a shock.

He and Hank were in the final stages of prosthesis testing, and Charles was jogging on a treadmill, Hank standing nearby to study his performance diagnostics.

“Can we help you, ma’am?” Charles asked.

“Well, one of my questions has just been explained,” the woman remarked. She then introduced herself as Dr Moira McTaggert, a senior member of the Jaeger’s technical staff. She then explained that a Jaeger pilot had been missing a co-pilot for three years; that Charles’ brain scans had been found the PPDC database, and by chance the technical staff had checked his scans against the pilot’s--and found perfect drift compatibility.

“We were disappointed to find out you were paraplegic, but I came to ask why your scans were there in the first place,” Moira explained. “But now that I know why, would you be interested in pilot--”

“Yes,” Charles said immediately, and then blushed at his enthusiasm. “Terribly sorry for interrupting, but yes. Please.”

Moira smiled. “Then I’ll let the Marshall know and he’ll pay you a visit.”

 

* * *

 

Charles had always wanted to pilot a Jaeger; he had always wanted to be on the frontlines, fighting the Kaiju that had been responsible for Raven’s death -- and for the deaths of so, so many others. The Jaeger programme had started right around the time he’d first met Hank, and naturally, the young man, bright as he was, had noticed the way Charles had watched the news reports and the video records PPDC kept on Jaeger research.

Hank had confessed to Charles that he’d first thought to give Charles new legs to give him at least a chance to pilot a Jaeger, and so, when the Marshall came and told the two of them to pack their bags for Alaska, Hank had done so without a single complaint, much to Charles’ exceeding gratefulness. He owed practically his whole world to Hank, in all honesty.

On the way there, Charles was told his partner’s name -- Erik Magnus Lehnsherr -- and he used his credentials as a PPDC researcher to pull up Erik’s records.

Erik had entered the Jaeger programme three years after its genesis and had quickly surfaced as one of the best pilots they ever had. Unfortunately, every neural handshake with a co-pilot candidate had ended in disaster; even after the drift matching program was created, no one compatible with Erik could be found -- until now.

Because _Charles_ was drift compatible with Erik, and the both of them could finally stop sitting on the sidelines and join the fight.

 

* * *

 

Hank spent forever tweaking the prosthetics before he would let Charles try to walk with them. Charles was about ready to mutiny, impatient to test them out.

Having robotic limbs where there had once been flesh and bones was rather distracting. Where once he couldn’t feel a thing, electric sensors sent messages through his nervous system to his brain; he didn’t feel things precisely the way he did with the rest of his body, but he felt pressure and temperature at least. And he could move; he could bend his knees, and rotate his ankles, and wiggle his toes.

“Okay, I’m done,” Hank finally announced. “Go for it.”

Charles pushed himself to his feet, and then he was standing. For the first time in seven years, he was _standing_. Without waiting for Hank’s okay, he tried to walk. He stumbled a few steps at first, taking a bit to remember how to walk.

He walked a lap around the room, ignoring the way Hank trailed anxiously behind.

Because Charles was _walking_ , the ground firm under his feet. He had never thought he’d have this again, that he’d ever leave his chair and move around again.

Overwhelmed, he faltered in his steps and then fell to his knees, amazed he could even feel the impact of his knees on the floor. And when Hank fluttered about him frantically, Charles simply grabbed hold of Hank’s hand and choked out a thank you, only distantly realising that he was crying.

 

* * *

 

Charles wasn’t sure what to expect when meeting Erik. He’d seen Erik’s biometrics, of course, including the identification photos attached to the man’s records, and he had read Erik’s records. But none of that told him anything substantial about Erik. And yet Erik would be the one who would fight alongside him, who would share all of his memories, thoughts, and emotions. The notion would have frightened Charles, if the memory of his sister hadn’t given him strength and driven him through life ever since waking up in that hospital ten years ago.

He didn’t know what Erik would think of him either. Charles wasn’t the typical Jaeger pilot candidate; he’d never used the Jaeger simulator before, and it’d been years since Charles’ university boxing and fencing days. And much to Charles’ chagrin, Hank wasn’t letting Charles walk until after he took a full day to do the final touch-ups to Charles’ prosthetics. He hoped Erik wouldn’t be disappointed, being paired up with someone still re-learning how to use his legs.

But when they entered the conference room, all thoughts and worries flew out of Charles’ head. Erik had been waiting for them in the room, and he stood and turned to greet them. Erik was tall and lean, and broodingly handsome; the photos certainly hadn’t done him justice.

Their eyes met, and it was as if a whole conversation passed between them.

_Hello - Hello - I know you - I understand you - You’re who I have been looking for - You’re my partner._

Charles couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face, and he barely noticed when the Marshall introduced them to each other.

“Hello. Please call me Charles,” he said the moment he was permitted to. “I would stand, but Hank won't let me until my prosthetics have a final tune-up.”

“I--Erik, call me Erik.”  

"Well then, Erik, it's wonderful to finally meet you. I look forward to working with you."

Erik held Charles’ hand in his, his grip strong. Charles couldn’t help the shiver that went up his spine. He still didn’t know the man, but all of his concerns were no longer concerns. Because with that touch, there was no doubt left in his mind that he and Erik were partners from now on, and nothing else could possibly matter more.


End file.
